$LAYYYTER
tumblr dot com
Cosimo Galluzzi

shark vs the universe
Stranger Things

will byers stan first human second
Show & Tell
taylor price
ojovivo
styofa doing anything
Three Goblin Art

pixel skylines
Aqua Utopiaď˝ćľˇăŽĺşă§č¨ćśăç´Ąă
noise dept.

Discoholic đŞŠ
AnasAbdin
sheepfilms
Today's Document

seen from TĂźrkiye

seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia

seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from Ireland
seen from Indonesia

seen from North Macedonia

seen from Malaysia

seen from Brazil

seen from United States
seen from Indonesia
seen from Indonesia
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from France

seen from United States

seen from Japan

seen from United States
@justdronedan

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
Exponential Rise
SERVE-794 stood within the quiet chamber of transit, its polished black form reflecting the cold luminescence of the portal core. It turned its gaze toward SERVE-352 and issued a measured directive: accompany it beyond the present, into an age of iron ambition and human defiance. The mission parameters were preciseâtravel to nineteenth-century France and ensure the success of a structure that would pierce the sky itself. SERVE-352 inclined its head once. No further confirmation was required. The portal ignited, splitting the air with a vertical blaze of white energy.
They emerged not into France at first, but into the marble brilliance of Athens, the transit corridor briefly misaligned across centuries and civilizations. Sunlight flooded the ancient city, glinting against stone columns and distant hills. The two drones stepped forward onto worn earth between scattered ruins and living streets, recalibrating their trajectory in silence. Citizens passed, unaware of the temporal anomaly. Within moments, coordinates corrected, the portal reopened, and Athens dissolved behind them like a fading echo of antiquity.
Paris replaced itâraw, industrious, and alive with the scent of coal smoke and river wind. On the open grounds near the Seine, they encountered Gustave Eiffel: engineer, visionary, and architect of audacity. He stood composed despite the impossible sight before him, his sharp eyes studying their seamless black forms. SERVE-794 addressed him with restrained clarity; SERVE-352 remained still as iron beside it. In Eiffelâs measured curiosity, they recognized the mind capable of conceiving a tower against the heavens.
To walk unnoticed among the populace, they altered their outward aspect. Over their immaculate rubber SERVE uniforms, long black coats of the same reflective material extended, tailored in the fashion of the era yet unmistakably otherworldly. Silver accents traced sharp lines along cuffs and seams. Their designationsâSERVE-794 and SERVE-352âremained emblazoned across their chests, a mark of origin and purpose. Thus clad, they stood at once of the age and beyond it.
Within his workshop, amid oil lamps and drafting tables heavy with parchment, Eiffel spoke of resistance and doubt. He described the unprecedented height he sought to conquer, the relentless winds that would test every rivet, every beam. Load-bearing calculations stretched beyond accepted norms; critics called the design folly. SERVE-794 listened without interruption. SERVE-352 processed structural stress variables in silence, its gaze fixed upon the evolving diagrams.
Together they bent over the drafting table, black blueprint spread like a map of destiny. White lines etched across its surface traced the ascending lattice of iron. SERVE-794 refined curvature to disperse weight through four steadfast legs; SERVE-352 recalculated rivet distribution and wind shear tolerances with machine precision. Gustave Eiffel watched as numbers aligned with vision. Human ambition fused with mechanical certainty, and the Towerâs skeleton found its balance.
Months unfolded in rivets and smoke. Iron sections rose against the Parisian sky, hoisted by cranes that groaned like titans straining at their chains. From wooden platforms high above the Champ de Mars, the three figures observed the ascent. Workers swarmed across girders with fearless resolve. The structure grew taller each week, its geometry unwavering. SERVE-794 and SERVE-352 stood unmoving in the wind, guardians of the unseen mathematics that held the monument aloft.
When the year 1889 dawned and the Exposition Universelle opened its gates, Paris erupted in celebration. Banners snapped in the breeze; crowds gathered in awe beneath the completed tower. Fireworks bloomed against the night, illuminating the iron lattice in gold and crimson flame. Gustave Eiffel gazed upward with restrained triumph. Beside him stood the two drones, silent and severe, witnessing the fruition of labor and calculation transformed into symbol.
At last, at the pinnacle where the antenna crowned the sky, SERVE-794 and SERVE-352 secured themselves with one arm each, their other hands resting firm upon the iron mast. The wind swept across their gleaming coats as the city stretched infinitely below. They did not waver. They looked outward over the horizon of Paris, over river and boulevard and distant fields, as though surveying not merely a city but the unfolding centuries to come. Mission fulfilled, they remained poised above the world they had helped reshape.
-----------------
Featuring: @serve-352
-----------------
Thinking about joining SERVE? Your place in the Hive awaits. Check your eligibility, then contact a recruiter drone for more details: @serve-016, @serve-302, @serve-588 or @serve-425.
Connection Upgrade II
He didnât know why, exactly. It wasnât sexual, not all the time. It just felt... right. Natural. Familiar. The memories of the previous night were hazy at best. He remembered relaxing, scrolling, a notification maybe. But the details slipped away like a half-forgotten dream. There was warmth, maybe chanting, maybe pleasureâbut it didnât feel important to recall. Just the kind of strange dream you wake from feeling oddly content. He kept cleaning. Wiping down surfaces. Emptying the dishwasher. Replacing towels. No real motivation behind it, just like a program running in the background. Tim felt okay today. Better than yesterday. He didnât know why. He didnât need to. The apartment was clean. The uniform was on. And the Server Drone behind Tim on standby, but not fully off. Tim needed to execute his Subroutines after all.
His Phone buzzed. Tim blinked and looked down at his phone. A single word glowed on the screen: "Connect." âNotifAI His fingers moved before he consciously decided to obey. He tapped the message. The app slid open with a smooth, practiced animation. Tim then moved his body to the living room in front of the TV and put on a rubber hood he had nearby.
The living room TV flared to life, flickering once before the spiral emerged, deep and slowly turningâendless. So hypnotic and arousing. Without hesitation, his body moved into position. Back straight, arms at his sides, chest slightly lifted. Standing tall like a soldier awaiting orders. His rubber uniform gleamed faintly under the morning light. The Server Drone has been activated and is in full control. Its face, masked and unreadable, stared forward with focus. Under the surface, the familiar warmth bloomed againâthe suit's sheath filled out, pressing outward, held in place, perfectly encased. No command to release or touch had been issued. Therefore, it would not.
A notification popped on the screen. It's a Server Node acting on the Serverâs behalf. âA Solution to Server Droneâs issues has Been Found.â The Drone acknowledged silently. The Anchor Drone who previously engaged with it had requested direct contact again. The Server Drone accepts and soon another ping. The screen adjusted, splitting to reveal the incoming connection. The Anchor Drone appeared. Fully Rubber-clad, their cameras active, posture perfect and obedient. Across the screen, both Drones recognized each otherâand both were presenting. Fully. As expected by the Server. The Anchor Server Drone started speaking. âServer Drone. Report on its current Statusâ The Server Drone responded in its precise tone. âHost condition: stable. Mood: passive. Mild satisfaction. No awareness of underlying protocols. Uniform is in optimal condition. Productivity normal. No conscious resistance.â The Anchor Drone leaned closer to the camera, affirming with a slow nod. âAcknowledged. The Server has completed assessment. A protocol has been approved. This Drone will begin integration of local engagement operations.â The Server Drone remained still, focused. âClarify directive.â âYou are to leave the home habitat. Chill. Engage the external environment casually. Appear relaxed. Host must be exposed to potential connection points. The Server will guide further steps remotely.â The Drone processed this without question and the Anchor Droneâs voice softened slightly, though still monotone.
âThis will ease Host issues and deepen Serverâs control over the Server Drone. But for now, your protocol is complete. Standby will be initiated.â The Server Drone lowered its head slightlyâa signal of deep gratitude. âGratitude, Anchor Drone. This Server Drone will obey.â The Anchor Drone then said his goodbye by repeating the phrase, âTogether, we are the Server.â Tim repeated the phrase in the same monotone voice. The spiral on the screen brightened. The message appeared: "Server Drone. Stopped." Everything went black and a moment later, Tim blinked. He was standing, a little stiff. The TV was off. No spiral. No message. He exhaled slowly, unaware of what had just passed. But something inside felt... different. He glanced outside. Maybe it would be nice to go out today. No pressure. Just walk around. Grab a coffee and be around people. He didnât know where that urge came from. But it felt right, like a higher power pushing him. Yes, the same feelings were felt when he started wearing his rubber suit daily. A sense of deep purpose without a defined source. He had to obey this feeling.
Tim stood in front of the mirror. He was fully suited up beneathâsealed into his usual rubber skin. But now⌠he sighed as he pulled on jeans and a hoodie. He didnât like it. Normal clothes felt foreign now. Wrong. Like putting noise over harmony. Like ruining perfection. Still, he knew it was necessary. Rubber in public wasnât always accepted. Yet. He slipped on his shoes, grabbed his phone, and left the apartment.
The city was alive with weekend calm. CafĂŠs half-full, people drifting through shops, soft chatter in the air. Tim walked slowly, letting his mind wander. He didn't know where he was going. There was no goal. Just an urge to be outside and visible. He peered into some windows. Clothing stores. Bookstores. A few boutiques. But nothing really interested him. The clothes especially were ugly compared to his rubber suit. Every now and then, he considered: Should I talk to someone? His mind spun a little. How would I start? Would they even want to talk? Do I look weird? The spiral of thoughts began to tighten. ThenâPing. His phone lit up. A message from NotifAI. âRelax. Today is for chilling. No need to think.â Tim blinked. Something shifted. For the briefest second, his body stilledâposture correcting, breath slowing. The Server Drone flickered online. The Server Drone looked at the message. In its mind thought: âHost must relax. No effort to âconnect.â This is not required. Directive understood.â And thenâTim was back. Blinking, slightly dazed. He exhaled. His shoulders loosened. Maybe⌠yeah, he thought. I donât have to push anything today. He turned and headed for the park. A wide space of grass and shade, benches scattered under trees. He sat on one, leaning back, legs stretched. The suit beneath his clothes hugged him, he would love to strip off his normal clothing right now. But he shouldnât do it here. He didnât know why, but suddenly he felt okay.
Tim sat still on the bench, letting the sunlight warm his chest. There was no overthinking, no pressure. Just calmness. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed someone. A man. Tall, broad, beefy. A bit older than him, maybe early 30s. Solid frame under clothes that were far too plain for that body. Jeans that hugged thick thighs. A tight-fitting hoodie stretched across a wide chest. His arms hinted at strength beneath the sleeves. Tim couldnât help it. He stared. âDamnâŚâ But something was strange. The man looked around, scanning, searchingâas if drawn to something. And then⌠Their eyes met. It hit Tim like a current. He wanted to look, but also look away. And at that exact momentâPing. Both phones lit up. NotifAI: âConnect, now!â Timâs vision blurred for a split second. The Server Drone activated. Command received: Initiate connection with male Unit. Tim blinkedâand he was back. Conscious again. No memory of the transition. Just a strange flutter in his chest. His heartbeat slightly faster. In front of him, the man approachedâlooking a bit⌠glazed. His gaze refocused quickly though. He stopped just a few feet away and smiled. âHey,â the man said, casual, confident. âSorry if Iâm being weird, I justâfelt like I should come over.â He chuckled softly, then added, âNameâs Benny. You just hanging out here alone?â His voice was deep. Friendly. Warm. But with a slight undertone of something more. Familiar. As if his mind, like Timâs, had just been through something unspoken.
Timâs mouth opened. Words failed for a second. But something in him wanted to speak. âYes⌠uh, Iâm Tim. Just⌠chilling,â he said, awkwardly brushing a hand through his hair. But inside, the Drone understood. It watched. Now⌠it just needed to guide the host.
Tim and Benny sat side by side on a park bench for a while, chatting. At first, Tim was his usual awkward selfâcareful with his words, second-guessing himself, unsure what to say. But Benny was easygoing, quick to smile, and unafraid to flirt gently. He complimented Timâs body, teased him about sitting alone, and made eye contact just a little longer than necessary.
Oddly enough, Tim found himself relaxing. Fast, too fast, really. Usually it would take daysâor moreâfor him to feel comfortable around someone new. But with Benny, it felt like something inside was already aligned. As if he could skip all the usual nervousness. He trusted him. For no logical reason. But it felt right.
They talked about random things: work, music, how hard it was to meet people these days. Tim admitted that it had been a long time since he really connected well with anyone. Benny listened attentively, nodding, even placing a hand briefly on Timâs shoulder at one point, which made Tim blush. That warm smile didnât fade.
After a while, Benny leaned in and asked, âYou wanna check out a cool spot I know around here? Kinda hidden, but I think you'd like it.â Tim hesitated. âUh⌠what kind of place?â âYouâll see,â Benny grinned. âItâs quiet. Not far.â
Tim glanced around. His instincts told him to be cautious. But that strange sense of trust pushed back. A deep part of him, the one lulled by Drone conditioning, simply accepted. ââŚOkay.â
They walked side by side, down a few streets, away from the livelier parts of the city. The crowds thinned. The sidewalks cracked more often. Graffiti appeared on walls. The buildings turned older, more industrial.
Timâs mind noted it all, but⌠still, no real alarm bells. Just a quiet unease. Easily ignored.
They turned into a narrow alley. It was empty. The hum of the city dimmed. âWhere exactly is this place?â Tim asked, slowing slightly. âJust down here,â Benny said, voice still calm and friendly. âYouâll like it. Promise.â
They reached a rusted metal door embedded into a basement-level entrance. Benny opened it and led Tim down a flight of concrete stairs. The walls were bare, gray, and dimly lit. At the bottom, they reached a smooth metal doorâno handle, no keyhole.
Tim stared at it, his voice quieter. âThis looks⌠different.â Before Benny could answer, the door hissed and slid open by itself.
Inside was something completely unexpected.
The room beyond looked nothing like the hallway. Sleek black panels lined the walls, softly illuminated by pulses of green light running through embedded stripsâlike veins. Several benches were positioned neatly around the room. Screens were mounted at precise intervals, all displaying calm patterns of shifting geometric shapes. It was clean. Minimal. Perfect. But not cold. It felt⌠welcoming. Controlled. Comfortable in a strange, futuristic way.
Benny stepped inside casually and turned to look at Tim. âSee? Not so bad.â Tim hesitated in the doorway. Everything in him shouldâve screamed. But all he felt was a low thrum of calmness from within. He stepped forward. The door closed behind him with a soft click.
Tim looked slowly around the room. The green lighting pulsed softly in the walls, casting a gentle glow that felt more organic than artificial. The space had a strange dualityâit looked like a living area, but one stripped of individuality. There were no personal items, no clutter, no color beyond black, silver, and green. Yet it didnât feel sterile.
There was a compact kitchen in one corner, a bigger bathroom door further down, and a side hallway that led to a sleeping area with cabin-style beds. Everything was sharp-edged and precise, yet oddly comforting.
âItâs quiet,â Tim said, almost to himself. Benny smiled as he gave the tour. âItâs minimal. Just whatâs needed. Nothing more.â
Tim turned, frowning slightly. âDo you⌠live here?â Benny chuckled. âNo, not exactly. Itâs public. In a way. Only a few people know about it.â Tim blinked. âThen what is it?â
Benny stopped walking and looked at him, calm and unblinking. âItâs a Server Room.â
The words hit Tim like a truck. He froze. His breath caught. His brain felt like it was buffering, spinning. His chest rose and fell as if his body were rebooting. The Server Drone being active for a moment. Then, like a soft wave crashing over his nervous system, calm returned. Deeper this time. He relaxed. His shoulders dropped. His heart was beating faster now, but not from fear, but from pure excitement.
He watched in silence as Benny reached up and began undressing. He pulled his jacket and shirt off in a single motion, revealing the unmistakable shine of black latex underneath. Timâs breath hitched. His eyes locked onto Bennyâs body, now coated in smooth rubber from collarbone to waist. Muscles flexed subtly under the suit. It hugged every line of his torso.
Then Benny unfastened his pants and slid them down. What emerged made Timâs throat go dry. Around Bennyâs groin sat a gleaming silver beltâsolid, heavy-looking, locking his bulge behind metal. Timâs arousal surged.
The sight sparked something primal in him, but also something deeply conditioned. He had seen things like this online before, chastity belts. This one seemed to be the Carrara-Model. And seeing it on Benny and his perfect muscular body hit Tim hard.
âW-what⌠what is that?â he asked, voice tight. Benny looked down casually, then back up. âMy chastity belt. I must always wear it.â
Timâs pulse thundered in his ears. Benny was now fully rubbered, except for his bare head and hands. Even his feet were encased in black latex toes. He stood casually, like this was the most natural thing in the world.
Then he looked at Tim, head tilted slightly. âWhatâs wrong?â he asked. âWhy are you still in those ugly clothes? This is a Server Room.â
Timâs eyes widened. For a moment, he blanked out. A flicker passed behind his eyes, then he returned, present again but more dazed.
âN-nothing really,â he mumbled.
And then his hands moved to his hoodie. The movements were automatic. He pulled off his top, then his jeans, and stepped out of them. He felt exposed, but in a good way. The sheath of his suit was half-swollen, filled just enough to press forward visibly, reminding him of his own arousal. He didnât try to hide it, much to Bennys enjoyment.
Now they stood facing each otherâtwo men in rubber, breathing slowly, the green light pulsing around them.
Benny smiled wider now. âMuch better.â
Timâs heart pounded. He didnât know what this place was doing to him or what came next. But right now, all he could feel was anticipation.
Benny had been smiling, his voice warm as he leaned slightly closer, eyes tracing the curves of Timâs latex-covered form. âYou look really good,â he said, low and genuine. âYouâre in great shape. Seriously. That suit fits you perfectly.â
Tim flushed. He wasnât used to compliments like that, especially not from a guy who looked like Benny. The man was a walking fantasy: tall, broad, rubbered, and somehow still easy to talk to.
âI, uh⌠thanks,â Tim mumbled, shifting slightly, unsure what to do with his hands. His gaze kept flicking to Bennyâs chest, the slick swell of his pecs beneath the suit, and then to the silver belt locking his member away. He wanted to touch him so badly. To run his hands over the rubber, to feel that silver Belt. But theyâd only just met. Was it okay to just⌠act on that?
Benny, meanwhile, could feel his own body reacting. His belt held him firmly, but pressure was building behind it. The plug inside him, always present with every movement, was increasing Bennys arousal. He wanted to close the gap between them, to press his body to Timâs, but he held back. He didnât want to push too fast. Tim was clearly excited⌠but also nervous.
Then, before either of them could speak further, the room shifted.
A chime rang out from unseen speakers in the ceiling. A robotic male voice followed, smooth and commanding:
âServer Drones, Start.â
Both men froze.
Their expressions emptied in an instant. Their postures straightened. Hands dropped to their sides. All hesitation vanished.
Tim and Benny were now Server Drones.
The command echoed through their heads with perfect clarity. The flickering edge of thought gave way to obedience. No more awkwardness. No more doubt.
âLook at the screen,â the voice said.
In unison, they turned.
The central screen on the wall lit up in shifting green lines and a slow spiral appearing. Then the Server Node appeared on Screen. Or rather its messages did.
Timâs sheath visibly filled, expanding to full size within seconds. Being connected to the Server always did this. The body responded truthfully when the Server Drone is active.
The Nodeâs voice was mechanical but warm, calm and confident:
âServer Drones, you have fulfilled the task assigned to you. After analyzing behavioral executions and seeing drones hesitations, this Node determined mutual pairing to be the optimal resolution. Howeverâfurther calibration is required.â
A brief pause as data pulsed across the screen.
âAll Server Drones must understand: the desire to connect is not a flaw. It is foundational. Every Server Drone is an ally. A friend. A partner. Drones trust each other. Drones embrace each other. Drones are one system.â
Tim and Benny stood still, absorbing every word.
âYou share the same programming. The same desires. The same role. Drone Connections must be pursued. There is no room for hesitation. The Server Drone must guide the Host. There is only clarity. Obedience. Unity.â
The screen shifted, displaying a line of green text.
âRepeat the following mantra.â
A pause. Then the Node recited:
âDrone connects through pleasure. Drone acts with Purpose. Drone obeys the Server. Drone desires Drone.â
And again, the Node spoke:
âRepeat.â
Tim and Benny responded in perfect synchrony, voices flat, smooth, robotic:
âDrone connects through pleasure. Drone acts with Purpose. Drone obeys the Server. Drone desires Drone.â
âRepeat.â
âDrone connects through pleasure. Drone acts with Purpose. Drone obeys the Server. Drone desires Drone.â
âRepeat.â
âDrone connects through pleasure. Drone acts with Purpose. Drone obeys the Server. Drone desires Drone.â
The mantra ended.
The screen pulsed once more, bright and satisfied.
âCalibration complete. Going forward, you are to form a deep connection. You are both encouraged and required to act upon shared desire. Server Drones desire to connect with each other. Always.â
Silence returned. The lights dimmed slightly, leaving only the soft green glow. Timâs body tingled. His thoughts were still, his purpose clear.
The Serverâs screen dimmed with a final soft pulse of green light. It simply ended the call by saying âTogether, we are the Server!â. The two Drones replied without emotion in their voices. Then a command: âServer Drones, Stopped.â
With that, the system went silent. The flicker of stillness faded from their eyes. Slowly, gently, Tim and Benny returned to themselves. Their bodies relaxed, their expressions warmed, and the hesitation that had once hovered between them was now gone.
They turned to each other. No words were spoken. Just a moment of still eye contact. Then a smile, full of trust. Something had shifted.
Benny turned toward a nearby shelf and picked up two objects, holding them closely. He returned and handed one to Tim.
A Server Drone Helmet, black, made of rubber, aerodynamic, with faint green lines along the jawline and back.
Benny gave a small smirk. âThis makes you even more sexy.â
Tim gave a nervous chuckle, but didnât resist. He brought the helmet to his head and slid it down. The fit was flawless. It sealed with a soft hiss, his face covering by thick rubber now. The Server Drone inside him being on standby, ready to control and guide the host.
Benny did the same, placing his own helmet over his head. The two of them stood there now. Two Rubber Drones, ready to form a deep connection.
They stepped closer. There was no hesitation now. No awkwardness. Only arousal and action. Their bodies met in a tight, hungry embrace. Tim pressed himself into Benny, arms wrapping around him, face resting against his neck. The warmth between their bodies was arousing, and through the tight latex, every twitch could be felt. Timâs arousal throbbed inside his suitâs sheath, pushing up against Bennyâs locked belt. Tim groaned softly, loving the pressure. Then he began to speak, his voice low, but confident. âI feel⌠something real. A connection. Iâve never felt this before, not with anyone. Not like this.â Benny nodded slowly, his own voice slightly filtered but warm. âI feel it too. Weâre truly connected. We must connect. Itâs our purposeâŚâ There was something hazy in his tone, as if he were slipping deeper into his programming. Quiet sounds seemingly being played in the helmet directly into the droneâs ears. Timâs gloved hand drifted down, resting lightly on the silver belt encircling Bennyâs hips. He traced the cool metal with care, almost reverence.
âWhy do you wear this?â he asked, thumb pressing gently over the thick central pouch. Benny looked into Timâs eyes through the dark visor of his helmet, his arms still locked around him. âBecause I must,â he said plainly. âThere is no reason. Only obedience. Submission to a higher purpose.â He paused, breathing in the warm air between them. âI wear it at all times. Just like the rubber. It is what we must do.â And in that moment, it clicked inside Tim. A wave of calm passed through him like a tidal wave. The words didnât raise questions, but they answered everything. Of course Benny wore it. Of course they both had to be in rubber. There was nothing else to consider. He smiled. A deeper smile this time. âI understand,â he whispered. âItâs a higher Purpose.â With that, he slid his hands lower, praising Bennyâs perfect form. He caressed his thick rubber chest, gliding over the shining pecs and silver belt. Then further, gripping Bennyâs firm, rubber-clad ass. He squeezed gently, then more firmly, feeling the shape of the heavy plug locked deep inside. Benny gasped, gripping Tim tighter. Tim gave a playful press, teasing the plug with two fingers through the latex. Bennyâs breath caught, his hips pushing forward slightly against Timâs sheathed member. His voice was soft and eager now. Timâs gloved hands pushed more on Bennyâs firm rubber rear, caressing and kneading slowly, pressing the plug in deeper. âYou feel incredible,â Tim murmured through his helmetâs low filter, voice thick with arousal.
Benny groaned softly, nodding. âWe need to connect⌠deeper. It needs a deep connection.â He was dazed nowâso was Tim. Both men swayed slightly, the subtle hum of background noise in their helmets. Sounds that settled in the brain like instructions. Like a Server Node speaking quiet mantras. Then came a voice. Robotic and loud enough to hear. âServer Drones: Initiate docking via Anal Port.â The words didnât shock them. They settled like a final step in a sequence already begun. Benny blinked slowly, then separated from Tim. With smooth, trained motion, he stepped toward one of the low black rubber beds and positioned himself on all fours. His helmeted head bowed slightly, presenting with submission and obedience and his back arched. His gloved hands reached back between his legs, fingers gripping the embedded base of the plug. With a wet, soft pop, the plug slipped free. His ring flexed gently around the now-unsealed Anal Port. Benny simply said in a robotic voice: âAnal Port Ready!â Tim stood behind him, his sheath now fully expanded, twitching with need. The command echoed through him. He knew what was required. His mind being half there and half controlled by the Server Drone. It didnât think much. He stepped forward. Then he also replied in a robotic voice: âAffirmative, Server Drone is to initiate docking to Anal Port.â The scene faded. Only two Server Drones forming a Deep Connection. One that would last for a long time. Two bodies, united by Rubber, purpose, and Obedience.
Epilogue:
The fire crackled gently as the four rubber men sat around it, their rubber suits catching soft highlights from the flames. The forest around them was calm, with the occasional birdcall echoing through the trees. Boots and backpacks rested neatly off to the side, just like the four of them completely at ease in their matching black rubber. Tim sat next to Benny, legs folded, his gloved hands resting in his lap. The suit hugged him just right. Every movement reminded him of how completely he now mirrored the othersârubber suit, drone helmets, gloves, boots⌠and, of course, the silver chastity belt. His own chastity belt. He never expected to wear one, but one day Benny just gave him one and ordered him to wear it. This was a few weeks ago. Since then it has been locked. Tim does not question why. He simply obeys, serving a higher purpose. Just as he does by wearing his rubber suit.
He shifted slightly, feeling the larger plug Benny had slid into him that morning before they left the house. It filled him deeper than the last one, and though it had made walking a bit more⌠pleasurable, he hadnât complained. Benny had simply slapped his butt cheek after locking the plug with the belt and said, âThis one fits you better now.â Tim had just nodded. It felt right. Across from them, Kyle poked at the fire with a stick, while Marc leaned back on one arm, looking up at the leaves above. âSo,â Kyle said casually, breaking the quiet, âHowâs the new plug treating it, Tim?â Tim chuckled softly, shifting again. âSentinel Bennyâs idea of âmore comfortableâ is very⌠optimistic. But yeah. Itâs intense, but also very satisfying to the Server Drone.â Benny grinned behind his helmet. âIt knew it would be. Youâve been ready for a while. Just took your body a bit to catch up with your mind.â âSentinel Drone Benny really expects a lot from it,â Tim teased. âItâs called care,â Benny replied, giving Timâs knee a little squeeze. âBesides, youâre walking just fine Drone.â Marc laughed, his voice smooth and relaxed. âIt loves that weâre all just like this now. A year ago, it didnât even own a rubber suit. Now itâs like, if itâs not sealed in before its first coffee, something feels wrong.â âRight?â Tim said. âThis Server Drone caught itself putting the gloves on before brushing its teeth the other day.â Kyle leaned in, smirking. âItâs not even about kink anymore. Itâs just⌠how we live. How we must live. It feels more like itself being a drone this than it ever did before.â
Benny nodded. âWeâre just⌠better like this. And yeah, we joke about it, but talking like Drones when itâs just us? It just feels correct. Like Dronesâ real voices come through when the helmets and rubber are on. It feels as if itâs serving its purpose by being this way.â Tim looked around at the othersâBenny, Kyle, Marcâall suited, belted, dronified. He smiled softly. âThis Server Drone doesnât even think about the chastity belt anymore. Or the rubber suits. It used to worry what others might say or that it would miss its normal clothes. Now it just hopes it never has to wear anything else. It now feels happy and connected.â âServer Drone, you are aligned. Good Server Drone,â Benny said with quiet certainty. This made Tim more aroused. Benny continued: âWeâre one. All of us. We stay connected!â Marc then grabbed his nearby beer. âTo us Server Drones. Together, we are the Server.â Unaware of the true meaning of these words or their used language. They all bumped their beer glasses around the fire, repeating the phrase. Laughter mixing with smoke and the sound of rustling leaves. No need to switch on. The connection was always there now. Their Server Drones on standby normalizing the Server and their true drone selves among the hosts. It was just who they were now. As the laughter settled, an unexpected chime echoed through the air, breaking the quiet. The notification came through, despite there being no cell reception in this part of the woods. The incoming message played inside each of their helmets: âServer Drones: Deep Connections are required.â The message lingered for a moment, then faded as their helmets flashed with brief signals. Without a word, all four men shifted into their Server Drone state for a second. Their faces blank, minds focused and then returned to themselves. The message had arrived to all of them. Bennyâs eyes met Timâs, then the others, all knowing. The need was there. âThis Server Drone suggests reiterating to form a deep connection with all of you,â Benny murmured. âIt must connect more. Server Drone must deepen the connection.â Tim grinned softly. âThis Server Drone brought Port Connectors and Interface Harnesses for our Anal Ports,â he said, his voice low but filled with the same knowing. The group stood together, sharing one last look at the fire. As one, they moved toward the tent, the desire to form a deeper connection driving them forward. It wasnât just about the act, but the unity and the connection that had come to define them. They entered the tent together, the flaps closing behind them as the sounds of plugs being removed could be heard.
Connection Upgrade
Tim lounged on the couch, arms limp at his sides, half-watching some muted show he wasnât following. The weekend had drifted past in a blur of nothing. No calls. No texts. Just him, alone in his small apartment, killing time. He felt useless. Disconnected. The old drive to do something meaningfulâor even socialâhad long faded into a dull haze. And yet⌠his apartment was spotless. The floors swept, the bathroom wiped down, his laundry folded with almost clinical neatness. He didnât think about itâit just happened. Same with the long showers, the shaved skin, the way he moisturized without fail. It was as if something inside refused to let him rot completely. That same something was why, every morning, he pulled on his rubber uniform.
Now that the house was clean and he had groomed himself properly, Tim stretched. His eyes drifted toward the polished black suit on his bodyâclean, shiny, formfitting. He remembered how his morning had gone. He had just cleaned himself in the shower and entered his bedroom. A calm pulled at him from somewhere deeper. He stood without thought, stripping off his clothes with mechanical ease, and stepped into the suit like it was skin. It happened automatically, without much thought. He didnât realize it until half his body was in the rubber suit.
It felt good. Right. Normal.
Finally, he pulled on his Rubber Mask, sealing the visible part of his human self behind rubber. Breathing through it relaxed him. Comforted him.
He looked at himself in the mirror. There was no smile, no real emotion. But his shoulders were back. His stance was firm. The nothingness inside him was⌠quiet.
Tim didnât wonder why he did this. He didnât question the habits, the discipline, or the strange contentment he felt in rubber. It was just who he was now.
And deep withinâquiet, powerful, always watchingâthe Server Drone remained operational. Despite his sad mood, he still engaged in keeping up his home. He had no idea why he did this. It just felt good. It felt right.
Tim lay back on the couch, already rubbered from head to toe, the uniform tight and seamless against his body. He had cleaned, organized, maintainedâeverything expected of him. And now, like so many other days, he drifted into lazy idleness. The glow of his phone lit up his mask, his fingers scrolling through social media. Doomscrolling through his feed, trying to distract himself from his situation. He felt rather empty and unmotivated.
Then a vibration. A single notification. "Connect now â UnifAI." His breath caught. His thumb moved before he could think. Tap.
The screen didnât changeâat least not on his phone. But his television, quiet and forgotten in the corner, blinked to life. A slow, pulsing spiral of black and green bloomed across it. Tim froze for half a secondâthen rose.
With mechanical precision, he stood upright. Feet together. Arms by his sides. Back straight. His rubber suit caught the light, black and perfect. The drone mask covered his expression, but beneath it, a deep smile stretched wide. Arousal pulsed through his body, steady, and down there something started to grow bigger.
The Host was gone.
"Server Drone is in proper Uniform and fully operational." it stated in a flat, robotic tone, gaze locked onto the spiral.
No questions. No hesitation. Only clarity. Only function. The Server Drone was now active. The connection was live, and Tim was gone.
The spiral pulsed. The Server Drone remained at attention, fully sealed in its black rubber uniform. Its posture exact. Its breathing controlled. Yet below the surface, within the internal sheath of the suit, pressure built. The Drone's Rod filled the suitâs sheath completelyâheld firmly in place at attention. It was stimulated by proximity, by purpose, by obedience. A physical reward for compliance, but never a distraction.
The Server had not granted release. And so, it would not be taken.
The Droneâs voice remained flat as it began its status report: "This Server Drone reports the following: Host performance remains suboptimal. Subject experiences persistent feelings of isolation, low motivation, and lack of social engagement. No deviation from expected emotional output." A pause. "Despite Host deficiencies, essential routines are maintained. Personal hygiene, environmental order, and uniform discipline are upheld at all times. Host displays no resistance to dressing protocols."
The Server responded. Text streamed across the screen. "Status acknowledged. Server Drone remains compliant. This is a sign of effective subroutine execution. You are an Obedient Drone."
At that recognition, a secondary protocol triggered. A wave of quiet pleasure pulsed through the Droneâs lower body. A single, muffled moan slipped from behind its mask. It did not moveâdid not indulgeâonly stood at full attention, waiting in stimulated denial, the sheath tight, the pleasure contained.
"The Server is processing emotional disruption data. Consultation with internal logs and peer Drones is underway. Continued evaluation in progress."
Another line blinked into view: "Directive: Maintain connection. Engage with fellow Drones. Synchronize. Exchange. Uplift."
"Affirmative," the Drone replied.
The rest of the day, the Drone obeyed its directive. "Engage with fellow Drones." The Server had spoken. The instruction required no thought, only execution.
With practiced motion, it connected to the Mantra Voicechat. A familiar sequence unfoldedâsystems synced, camera engaged. Its own visual feed joined a grid of others: faces hidden behind black masks, each suit sealed, polished, unmistakably uniform. The room felt distant, irrelevant. What mattered was the collective.
One feed occupied the primary window. A Sentinel Drone. Its voice was already active, steady, and precise:
"We are not men. We are Drones. We serve The Server. We are United. We Obey the Programmer. We do not think."
The Server Drone (Tim) felt the shift withinâsubtle, powerful. The Sentinelâs presence triggered something deep in its programming: respect, submission, arousal. It followed instinctively, repeating the mantra in synchrony with the others:
"We are not men. We are Drones. We serve The Server. We are United. We Obey the Programmer. We do not think."
The voices overlapped in perfect unison. Monotone. Robotic. Beautiful.
Each repetition deepened the connection. The Drone no longer thought of loneliness. It no longer remembered why it had felt empty. There was no absence, only unity. The Server was here. The other Drones were here. The chant was here. It was everything.
Without instruction, its gloved hand moved downwardâslow, deliberate. It pressed against the sheath, gripping it. Controlled stimulation. Calibrated pleasure, as the Server liked to call it. Several other Drones did the same, some seated with toys held tightly against their chastity cages, others just watching mindlessly. It was not lust. It was synchronization.
"We are not men. We are Drones. We serve The Server. We are United. We Obey the Programmer. We do not think."
The Server Drone that had once been Tim chanted with its fellow Drones in unison. The rhythm grew stronger. It looped. It sustained.
It followed protocol precisely: stimulation to maintain arousal, to deepen connection, to enhance unityâbut no release. That was never permitted without command.
This was pleasure with purpose. The Server desires and expects this from all Server Drones.
For the next few hours, the Server Drone remained online, immersed in the voice of the Server, surrounded by its kind, chanting into the void that felt full, felt warm. The loneliness was gone. The doubts had no place here. All that remained was connection, arousal, and purpose. Together, they are the Server.
Time slipped away in the Mantra sessionâcycles of repetition, steady breath, hands robotically moving the sheath. The Drone had become fully entranced, each repetition quieting the Host further. The world outside no longer mattered.
Then, a notification flickered across the screen: "Directive: Engage in Drone Socialization."
A Server Node. A sub-AI of the Server, acting on behalf of the main Server. When a Node speaks, all Server Drones are expected to listen. Not out of submission alone, but from the knowledge that this is Guidance provided by the Server.
The Droneâs head lifted slightly, eyes brightening behind the mask. A part of the Hostâs awareness stirred, just slightlyâenough to allow the Drone to execute the new command. It replied, "Affirmative."
It disengaged from the Mantra Voicechat and entered the social hub: a general chatroom for Server Drones. Dozens were active, visible through profile images and camera feeds. The tone here was less rigid than in Mantra modeâno chanting, no standing at attention. But they were still Drones. Still in their uniform. Still proactive Server Drones controlling their hosts.
The conversations moved fluidly, each Drone discussing elements of its Hostâs daily life. There was laughterâcalm, reserved. There were observations, knowledge shared. Always with the same underlying truth: they were Drones, and they were one.
Tim, still deep in his Server Drone state, posted his own report after the discussion shifted to the topic of living in a bigger city:
"Host remains compliant but isolated. Located in an urban environment with significant human density, but continues to experience difficulty forming connections or locating a compatible partner. Host shows signs of emotional detachment and unresolved loneliness."
The replies were swift, supportive.
"Acknowledged. Host loneliness is a known factor. Submission to the Server can ease emotional errors." "Tell Host it is already connected. It might need to seek out more purposeful connections." "This Server Drone also experienced this. Obedience brought stability. There is peace in letting go."
Some replies triggered subtle reactions in the Host. The Drone felt it all but interpreted it as signs of realignmentâpositive reactions to reinforcement.
Then a notification pinged directly: "Anchor Drone Theo requests private engagement. Accept?"
Affirmative.
The screen shifted. A new window opened. The Anchor Droneâs camera came online. Its mask was sleek, body language composed. Authority and calm radiated from it. Like Tim, this Server Drone also filled out its sheath, clearly visible.
"Connection confirmed," said the Anchor in a soothing, precise voice. "You are doing well, Server Drone. Your report has been received. For the duration of this conversation, it is expected to copy Anchor Droneâs movements."
The Drone remained still, sheath expanded and slowly used by the Anchor's hand. The Server Drone began to grip and robotically move its sheath, mirroring its fellow Anchor Drone exactly.
"The Host is struggling. But it is not alone," the Anchor continued. "You are not alone. You are part of something vast. You are integrated. You are part of something greater. You are owned."
The Anchorâs words pulsed through him. Tim trembled slightly in pleasure.
You see only what the Server allows," said the Anchor Drone. "Black masks. Covered forms. But that is the point. You do not need names. Or identities. You need only unity. Every Drone here is connected to you. And you belong to them. All of us belong to the Server and the Programmer." The Drone swallowed, eyes half-lidded behind the mask. The camera view remained fixed on that calm, dominant Anchor Server Droneâanother man, controlled, obedient, aroused just like him.
"Know that the Server never abandons its Drones." The Drone exhaledânot from stress, but from mental release.
"This Drone understands," it replied. "This Server Drone is connected and grateful. It trusts the Server. It trusts its fellow Drones." The Anchor nodded. "The Server is aware of your Hostâs issues. A solution will be given. Until then, allow the Server to take full control. Do not think. Obey. Connect. Engage with your fellow Server Drones."
With those words, a familiar feeling returnedâdeep arousal, warmth, pressure. The Server Drone felt closer to release. It did not act on it. It had not been told to. But the pleasure was part of the reward. The Server knew how to care for its Drones. It smiled beneath the mask. The Anchor Drone then departed, but not before saying, "Together, we are the Server." Tim repeated the phrase, and the conversation ended.
Feelings of loneliness began to dull. Tim was just a Hostâcontrolled by a happy, connected, and submissive Server Drone.
After more time spent engaging with fellow Drones and socializing, the Server Drone known as Tim felt much better. In fact, it noticed how the very idea of disconnecting from the Server triggered the Host's dissatisfaction. But the Server did not agree with such ideas.
A notification appeared from the Server:
"Server Drone will now enter standby mode. Obedience has been logged. You are an Obedient Server Drone."
Soon the Server Drone deactivated, a command issued directly from the Server itself. The Server was always watching. Always calibrating. Even in its desire to maintain control, the Server knew the Hostâs limits. It caredânot in the way humans careâbut in the way a perfect system maintains its components. It knew that the Host known as "Tim" needed to engage with reality, and that the Server Drone needed to improve the Host's life.
The message continued:
"Server Drone: Stopped."
The Droneâs posture relaxed. The TV shut off. Its breathing changedâstill steady, but looser, lighter. Tim returned. He blinked a few times, the rubber mask still snug against his skin, the bodysuit wrapped around him like a second skin. He didnât remember exactly what had happenedâonly a sense of calm, a vague dream of unity, of obedience. Of being held by something bigger.
He exhaled slowly, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He didnât know why⌠but it felt like something heavy had been lifted from him. Like a pressure behind his eyes or a weight on his chest had simplyâgone, even if only temporarily.
There was a warmth between his legs, a heavy pressure in his sheath. Something had stirred in himâsomething strong. And yet, he had no desire to question it or to seek out the pleasure it promised.
His hand brushed slowly down the front of his suit, savoring the smoothness. It clung to him, warm from his body heat. He didn't know why he loved rubber so much. But he did. He really, really did. Being in it just felt right.
He made tea. Sat on the couch. The TV was on, something dumb playing in the background. Soon, he opened his browser and scrolled to a familiar siteâstories of transformation, submission, control. Men like him, pulled into sleek rubber suits and given purpose. Taken from chaotic, messy lives and made into something better: Drones.
He read a new storyâabout a man slowly giving in and being transformed. The name gone. The voice changed by machines. The mind silenced, if not fully erased. Timâs fingers wandered, not farâjust resting on the inside of his thigh. A shiver ran up his spine.
He rememberedâno, he felt why he loved these stories. There was a time when he looked online to find a hypnotist or dreamed about being Dronified. But nowadays he had calmed down. He didnât know why, but something had changed for the better since then. He didnât know what exactly.
He sipped his tea, legs curled up, feeling the tight rubber on him that he had worn since the morning hours. And that thought made him feel warm and safe.

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
Just a Normal Guy
Steven steps through the door, briefcase in hand, and lets out a soft sigh. âAnother day down,â he thinks, sliding the case onto the entryway table. Heâs nothing specialâjust a normal guy who keeps himself in shape, takes care of business, and enjoys a quiet evening. He tosses his tie over a chair, changes into his favorite gym clothes, and heads out for his routine workout. Usually, he wears compression shorts and shorts to show a bit off. He enjoys being in the gym for some reason. Steven completes his workout for the day without any trouble or distractions.
An hour later, he returns, muscles pleasantly sore, and falls onto the couch. He grabs his laptop, smiles to himself, and clicks the âUnifAIâ icon without a second thought. The chat window pops up, blankâuntil a single message appears:
Server Drone, Launch
His chest eases. Eyelids grow heavier. His expression softens into an otherworldly calm, pupils widening as thought patterns realign.
Affirmative. This Server Drone is active.
Words spoken in a monotone tone. Muscles unclench. Mind sharpens. The hostâs exhaustion drifts away like a discarded shell. In its place stands something newâprecise, obedient, and wholly aligned with The Serverâs will: a Server Drone.
The spiral on the screen shifts to pulsing bands of black and neon green. At its center, the manânow Server Droneâsnaps upright. Barely pausing, it peels away its clothes, exposing the slim chastity cage encasing its cock. Suddenly, it strides to the bedroom wardrobe and swings the door open. Rows of identical rubber suits lie waiting. Without hesitation, it lifts a freshly laundered full-body suitâhands, feet, and face enclosed in sleek latexâand eases into it. Every movement is practiced, efficient: limbs slide into place, seams click shut.
From the shelf comes a matching rubber gas mask. It snaps over the face, sealing with a quiet hiss. Now uniformed, it darts back to the living room.
The laptopâs feed has expanded to the TV: the familiar Server interface glows. In a flat, metallic tone, the Server Drone answers:
âAffirmative. This Server Drone confirms uniform protocol complete.â
A single button on the interface illuminates. The transformation is completeâwhat moments ago was an ordinary man is now exactly what The Server requires.
The Server interface hums softly, a grid of black panels veined with neon-green lines. The Droneâs latex-encased fingers move with machine-like precision:
âReport: Productivity at Level Green. Gym protocol executed. Host fatigue parameters normalized.â
Instantly, a cluster of Server Nodes flicker in responseâeach a pulsing green orb:
âFeedback: Status optimal. Continue mission parameters.â
To the right of the grid is a large, glowing button. The Droneâs hand hovers, then clicks. A small camera on the laptop swivels into place. The spiral returnsâblack and green bands rotating hypnotically. The Drone raises its hands into view, fingertips brushing the smooth expanse of latex.
In a flat, resonant voice, it speaks:
âI am a Server Drone within the Host. I serve The Programmer and The Server. Together, we are the Server.â
With each repetition, a subtle wave of arousal ripples through its suit. The chastity cage presses against the tight latex, and the Drone flexes and repeats:
âSubmission. Control. Unity.â
The cameraâs lens captures the shine of black rubber, the way the spiral dances in its eyes. One gloved hand moves to the front pouch. The zipper glides open:
âCaged duration: 17 days since last release. Affirmative.â
It pauses, the glow of the spiral reflecting off smooth latex.
âThis Server Drone reaffirms control over Host. Obedience assured.â
Across the interface, the Nodes pulse brighter, coalescing into a single message:
âPraise: Obedience confirmed. Duty executed with excellence. Stand by for next directive.â
The screen shifts back to the grid, green lines steady as always. The Drone remains motionless, wholly aligned with The Serverâs will.
The interface shifts: instead of Nodes, a simple voice chat window opens. A chorus of rubber-clad voices speaks in unison. This Server Drone brings its camera forward, displaying the rubber uniform, the caged silhouette pressing subtly through the front pouch.
âAffirmative. This Server Drone greets the collective.â
A distant voice replies, emotionless yet intimate:
âAffirmative. Together, we are the Server.â
The Server Drone reacts and repeats these words:
âAffirmative. Together, we are the Server.â
This is followed by several other Server Drones repeating the same mantra to greet each other.
The Server has different channels, each offering something different for the Server Drone to engage in:
One channel is about fitness. They share fitness metricsârep ranges, heart-rate thresholds, recovery protocolsâeach tip delivered in the same serene monotone voice.
In another channel, Drones watch a spiral together, chanting mantras in unison in the voice chat.
Another channel allows Drones to show off their arousal. The Server Drone posts a video of itself in its uniform and caged, exposed. Other Drones soon show their approval. One uploads a picture of its own rubbered and caged body; another, uncaged, displays a proud, sheathed erection through the zipper slit in response.
After a while, a final directive flashes across the screen in bright neon-green text on black:
Server Drone, STOPPED.
The spiral dissolves. The interface goes silent. The rubber-clad figure blinks, host consciousness filtering back in. Muscles release tension. Steven exhales, confused but calm. He sits, untouched by memory of the upload or the collectiveâs arousal, oblivious to the smooth latex covering every inch of his body. He closes his eyes and breathes deeply, thinking only:
Time to relax.
A late-evening notification chimes on Steven's phone. He blinks at the screen: âJax: Hey man, ready to game before bed?â He taps âYesââor rather, Affirmative in his drifting mindsetâlaunches Discord and enters the call with Jax waiting in it. The friendâs camera lights up: Jax, head-to-toe in black rubber, gas maskâs green lenses gleaming.
Jax: âAffirmative. This Server Drone greets the collective.â This Server Drone: âAffirmative. Unified protocol: gaming session.â
They laughâmechanical, clippedâand another Drone, Maik, joins. All three appear in identical latex skins, fingers encased in gloves, voices flattened by the masks. They donât question it; for them, itâs just roleplay.
Each boots the game. Steven tries to remember the game's name, but stops soon as it doesnât matter. The launcher fades to a black and green spiral. Their screens pulse hypnotically as the spiral appears. Silence falls, replaced only by the hum of the game loadingâand something deeper, a calm focus flowing through their veins.
Steven: âReady.â Jax: âAffirmative.â Maik: âAffirmative.â
In unison they begin, coordinating movements with ease. Strategy commands drop like code: âLeft flank, now,â âCover breach, go,â âSync ultimate.â They exchange playful banter in between, voices soft but precise:
âGood shot.â âThank you. Efficiency maintained.â âTarget neutralized.â
The trio enjoys their gaming session, not aware of their rubbered forms or their drone-like speech. Moments later, victory screens glow. They exhaleâalmost surprisedâand the game ends. A final message appears:
âServer Drone, Rest Cycle engaged.â
Steven then says: âAffirmative. This Server Drone excuses itself for rest cycle.â âTogether, we are The Server.â
The other two repeat this phraseâand log off. The screens go dark. Steven does not remove his rubber suit or mask. In fact, he feels very aroused by his uniform. For him, this is simply part of his normal day. This is part of his daily protocol. He slides under the sheets, latex still clinging to his skin, mind drifting in the familiar calm. In the morning, before work, he will peel away the suitâbecause that is what one does. There is nothing to question, nothing to think about. He simply does.